


Come Together

by bluestoplights



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestoplights/pseuds/bluestoplights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Naval Captain Liam Jones found himself embroiled in scandal thanks to members of New York City elite. Since then, Killian Jones has dedicated himself to bringing the faux-royalty down. And what better way to exploit them than getting someone on the inside to aid your cause?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you came here with nothing (and you're leaving with the same)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincessPearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPearl/gifts), [letterfromathief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterfromathief/gifts).



  
  


He’s seventeen when his brother is released from the Navy. Dishonorably discharged, is the term that his brother spits out as if the words are laced with the most potent of poisons when he returns to their shared flat in New York. And they may as well be, seeing as the damage to his reputation will spread through the community like venom would spread through his veins -- taking everything he worked for and leaving nothing but a hollow shell.

The navy was everything to Liam, after being orphaned by their mother and abandoned by their father. Killian had high hopes of following in his footsteps and fighting for his country. “Making a name for themselves,” Liam used to tell him. Killian was 12 when Liam first joined the Navy, and since then he idolized every part of it. To think another option in their lives was conceivable for two orphans like them was barking mad. This was the life they wanted to build for themselves.

Liam’s biggest flaw, it seemed, was being a man of honor. One that couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the very false premise of the war that was being waged. Fighting enemies fair was something already in jeopardy when he was responsible for attacks that had more civilian casualties than terrorists, so this was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back. Liam blabbed to the press, and in return, his career was viciously torn out from under his feet by New York City’s and Washington’s finest.

It’s a year later, around the time where Killian perhaps would have been signing on for service himself, when Killian decides people like Mayor Cora Mills and Representative Robert Gold - both of whom he catches on the news talking about Liam as if he’s a homegrown terrorist - have no idea what a Jones brother with a media outlet is truly capable of.

That’s how he ends up knocking on Emma Swan’s door eleven years later with a bottle of expensive wine and only a faint niggling of compunction. Emma is the daughter of two public officials, ones he actually finds likable enough. It’s a rarity in politics, but Poughkeepsie mayor David Nolan and Senator Mary Margaret Blanchard honestly seemed to believe in the causes they advocated for, and they refused to play dirty. Blanchard was known for forcing Congress to come together on everything from education to immigration by fighting tooth and nail. Her husband was jokingly labeled a superhero by the media, thanks to feats such as saving women from burning buildings and bringing blankets and heaters personally to families in need.

Emma’s name in social circles, while not as big as it used to be, was still something that was going to be key if he wanted to continue to anonymously thrive. He kept his silent promise to himself before enrolling in college to bring the bastards down in a means that, while unorthodox, did the job. Especially considering the prevalence of social media and the accessibility of word of mouth. Killian wouldn’t admit to hosting a blog that held dirt on every one of the most prominent elite in New York with a gun to his head, and luckily for him, proxy servers along with other precautions make it so he doesn’t have to. Liam doesn’t even know, and he prefers for it to continue that way.

For a journalist from a well-respected newspaper, it’s rather pathetic. He must admit that to himself and he does, especially when crawling to daughters of prominent politicians for information on nights like these. There’s no integrity in getting sob stories out of bitter divorcees using nothing but his pretty face and patrolling high-class bars to observe what their campaign managers say with a few drinks in them. He learned the lesson when it came to wives with Milah, but that was a different matter entirely.

He tells himself there’s honor in revenge when Emma opens the door with a confused expression on her face.

Killian lifts the wine-bottle as if it’s explanation, and thinks to himself she is much prettier than he remembers her being in college or at a distance at parties when her brows only knit further.

“Can I help you?” She asks, bluntly.

“I moved in the building a few nights ago, and have taken to greeting all my new neighbors with a little housewarming treat.” Killian sends her his best boy-next-door grin and adds a little huskiness to his voice on the last word. That should do it.

“So, this is your explanation to knocking on my door at 10 o’clock at night while my kid is asleep? Correct me if I’m wrong, neighbor, but don’t house calls usually happen in the morning? And don’t New Yorker writers typically have enough class not to hit on women they barely know in the middle of the night, Killian?” Emma retorts, bracing her hand on the door and looking as if she’s about to tear him to pieces.

He’d been counting on her not-knowing who he was, as they had only spoken briefly on occasions he could count on his hand. She ran in the circles he tracked, it was to be expected. What wasn’t was her reaction to his formerly very successful methods.

Which would have to change accordingly. Ah, well. He’d always loved a challenge.

“I confess,” he grins, oh so very, very fakely. “Ruby sent me. She said you had a rough night and could use some...company.”

All he can say for the just-attempted method was that it clearly failed as she squints at him appraisingly. “The knowledge of my friend being unwilling to send random guys to my doors aside,I can tell when someone is lying to me.”

He’s so very tempted to cut and run at this point, but he knows he needs to talk to her or else he’ll never get what he needs on Gold. So he resorts to his normal act - clueless and pretty - as he makes his voice as breathy as possible. “Pardon, love?”

Which, of course, doesn’t work at all. “Call me love one more time and you’ll lose one of your hands. Treat me like an idiot one more time and you’ll lose another.”

He nearly sputters in response, hoping playing dumb would save him just this once. “At risk of being deprived of - quite literally it seems - life and limb, darling.” he adds the pet name for her benefit. “I’m afraid I have no idea what the devil you’re referring to.”

Emma only narrows her eyes at this, crosses her arms, and begins to invade his personal space in a move that can only be described as his tactic. “Okay, Jones!” she exclaims, slipping seamlessly into a faux-bubbly persona. “Since you seem to be unable to generate enough brain cells to rub together to figure it out for yourself, I’ll do it for you. You’re fishing me for information for your cute little blog you fantasize about winning a Pulitzer with. Let me guess, as Neal’s token ex I’d be as great of a source as any? A few glasses of wine and I give you my tell-all and you can inform the world that he paid his child support late once?”

Killian gapes in response, at loss for words for quite possibly the first time in his life.

“You think I don’t know how to figure out who the guy that’s conveniently always there when something happens is? The reporter who has his camera out every time someone so much as spills something on their shirt? That’s adorable.”

He somehow finds it within himself to lift his jaw off of the floor, looking nervously around the apartment (Perhaps in search for bugs? Has she been working for Regina? Why would she need to work for Regina? Didn’t she detest Regina, anyway? And for the love of all that was holy, why didn’t he stop internally asking himself rhetorical questions?). “How long have you known?”

Emma pauses, slinking down on her surely expensive couch which prompts him to follow. She does the math in her head for a moment, then abandons the task. “Since sophomore year of college. Ish.”

Bloody hell. She didn’t even speak to him then. Not that she speaks to him now, but that’s beside the point. It was long before the scandal of being caught with Gold’s wife and only months after he collected enough information to officially publish the page.

Which left him with another question that made his gut clench with panic. “Who else knows?”

She cocks her head at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world, and maybe he is. After all, who is able to have his secret identity uncovered by the girl sitting in front of him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world? “Is that a joke?”

Killian curses and crouches himself down so that he’s almost nose-to-nose with her. “I assure you, Swan, my own welfare isn’t grounds for jest.”

The close proximity would have most people anxiously shirking back within themselves and immediately sucumbing to whatever he wished. She doesn’t, only breaking her glare to roll her eyes at him. He fights back the urge to grin, despite the situation, because of course she would be the exception. That has seemed to be the rule with her since he knocked on her door.

“Cool it, Mr. Vocabulary. Do you honestly think if everyone - or anyone, since for most of this city it may as well be the same difference - knew that you would still be standing?” Emma seems to become more annoyed by the mere prospect tolerating him for another second.

He slinks down to sit across from her on the couch that likely costed more than all of his furniture combined and concedes. “I suppose not.”

She gets up to search for something in a nearby end table, then throws it in his direction. It nails him in the face and he reckons she meant for that to happen.

“What’s this?” he says, dangling the key between his thumb and forefinger as if it may bite him.

“A key to my safety deposit box.” Emma shrugs as if she just presented him with a housewarming gift instead of something he definitely should not have access to. She opens the door to her apartment, and gestures for him to leave through it. “I’m sure you can figure the rest out from there, Nancy Drew.”

Killian gives her a cautious look, tucking it into his pocket. “And why are you giving me this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Emma gives him a smirk that almost has him very, very regretful his normal seduction methods didn’t work. Not the one she assumed, he’s not so beyond reproach he enjoys getting women drunk for information, that’s strictly reserved for heavy-hearted staffers in a very public bar. The wine was more a gesture than anything, and one he’s leaving behind despite the less than expected result of the encounter. When it comes to ways he wishes this night would’ve gone, he’s thinking more along the divorcee route.

He teases her before getting a foot through the door, leaning to whisper in her ear. “Perhaps I would.”

Emma pushes him through the door the rest of the way. “You should leave before you wake Henry up and look up the meaning of personal space.”

He does the former, but laughs at the latter.

\--

Emma was kidding about Neal not paying child support, he later finds out. What he finds in place of that is far more incriminating. There are nearly twenty letters enclosed in an envelope. Some are emails. A few are of the hand-written variation, likely notes passed between the two young lovers in college. In another manilla envelope he discovers CDs that likely house evidence along similar lines.

Everything is conveniently dated, so Killian decides to read and listen to it all in chronological order. The handful of notes passed in college detail “I love yous”, “I want to spend the rest of my life with yous”, and, interestingly enough, even details of some petty robberies done by the two in order to pass the time in ways that only rich kids thought was amusing. He was Neal Cassidy then, and not Neal Gold. Judging by the content of the notes as well as his memory, however, Killian supposes Emma didn’t know that. It wasn’t until Killian posted something on the site months later that his real identity and, namely, the identity of his father were revealed.

A post it note with a flower petal still stuck to it, bearing the words “I’m sorry”, tell him what he already knows. The two got past the hurdle easily enough, and the claim “I didn’t want you to love me for just my money,” is as cliche as it is swoon worthy. The real problems for the couple came into play with printed out screenshots of text messages and the CDs. Neal had a less than heartwarming reaction to her pregnancy, if threatening to blackmail her with proof of her shoplifting so she wouldn’t reveal the paternity of her child was any indication. It figured, that. Gold, his father, couldn’t have a bastard in his family if he could help it. Emma refused to comply with his demands, offended and heartbroken at merely the concept of blackmail.

He remembers Emma’s, very public, fall from grace as a result. Neal held true to his word, it seemed, and without ever revealing his part in their petty heists .  Her crimes were kept out of the hands of the police and the press (excluding him, of course), thanks to her parents, but all the damage had already been done by other means. Anyone that mattered wanted nothing to do with her when she was stupid enough to get caught doing something as plebeian as thievery. Her days of parties and gossip were long behind her.

\--

Killian is still contemplating what to do with all of this information when he gets a call from a private number the next day. He has a good idea of who to expect, so he picks up on the first ring.

“Shall I even inquire how you’ve discovered my private cell phone number, lass?” he sighs.

Emma replies cheerily, “Absolutely not.”

“I suppose you would like me to do something with all of this evidence you’ve presented me with? I must remind you, love, I’m hardly a civil lawyer.”

“First of all, buddy, what did I say about calling me love?” he can’t resist the urge to chuckle at how offended she sounds, “Second of all, I hadn’t decided what to do with it all, but I think if we put our brains together we can think of something.”

“And you decided I was the best - forgive me, I’m using your analogy - brain to put yourself together with?” Killian asks, curious why she hadn’t hired herself an overpriced lawyer and called it a day.

Emma pauses for about a minute on the other line, leaving him straining to hear her reply. “I needed someone who wouldn’t sell out for the highest bidder. You seem to absolutely hate all of the highest bidders, so it works out nicely.” Her political upbringing kicks in after she takes a breath to continue. “Plus, it would benefit you and your…fine and completely respectful example of cutting journalism as well as me. Everyone comes home a winner.”

“I was always taught that whenever someone says a deal is mutually beneficial, it usually only benefits them.” Killian’s voice has a dangerous undertone that hints at his experience with that matter.

“Consider me the only exception.” He’s amused by the fact he can nearly picture her rolling her eyes at him in response, but he’s still unsatisfied with her answer.

“Why would you want to help me?” After I helped bring you down with the tools Neal provided, he almost adds.

“I was a Criminal Justice major, with a minor in Political Science - you can thank my parents for that one,” she tells him dryly. “One of the first things you learn, Jones, is that the enemy of the enemy is my friend. Even if the enemy of the enemy publically humiliated me.”

So, she hadn’t missed that bit. “Alright, darling. When do you suppose we can meet to discuss what our next move from here is?”

“Henry is with his grandparents for the weekend, so I’m thinking tomorrow at my place around six? P.M. not A.M.” He can hear her fiddling with paperwork on the other line and he wonders what the hell else she could have that isn’t already in his lap. She had her head in the game, that one.

That doesn’t mean he could resist the urge to tease her. “If I didn’t know any better, Swan, I’d say you were propositioning me for some more...enjoyable activities.”

“And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say if you said that in front of me instead of via cell phone I would have your pretentious Samsung shoved so far up your ass you’d taste plastic.”

The line goes dead, without her even bothering to let him confirm the meeting. Killian can’t resist the urge to burst out laughing in the empty room and thank the Powers That Be Liam was at work so he wouldn’t have to explain himself.

\--

They’re, for lack of a better word, scheming that Saturday. His lap is full of various legal documents he’s sure he shouldn’t even be able to look at, much less publish. She’s talking a mile a minute and stuffs so many external hard drives in his bag he thinks he could open a business with them.

Four hours and hundreds of pages later she asks him, “So, what do you think?”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership, love.” Killian states, meaning every word to someone other than his brother for once in his life.

Equally as surprising is that Emma doesn’t threaten him with bodily injury at the pet name. Instead, she sends him a warm smile that seems to bloom in spite of itself. Her hair falls into her face as she shakes her head wryly in a way that makes him want to go into an entirely different field of writing. Poetry, perhaps.

She holds her hand out and Killian can only quirk a brow at her in response.

“We’ll shake on it.” Emma tells him, her exasperation seeming just for show more than anything else. “We’ll make it official.”

His hand comes to curl around hers, giving it a firm shake. “I’m not one to resist making it official with a pretty girl.”

She lets go first, of course.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. don't wait (for too long)

 

He’d been working with Swan for two weeks when he decides to pop the question.  Not that type of question, of course, as Emma constantly reminded him they weren’t even friends. They barely fit the criteria for acquaintances. They were just reluctant business partners forced by circumstances to work together for a mutually beneficial cause.

Those were her words, mind you, not his.  He’d be more than charmed to consider a woman like her, as tough as she was pretty, a little more than a business partner. He told her so, at first. After it became clear she wasn’t going to be returning the sentiment anytime soon, he’d backed off a bit with the innuendo. Anyone who managed to best him (rest assured, the list of those who did was small enough to be counted on one hand) earned his respect.

Just because he respects her, however, doesn’t make her any less of a captivating enigma.

A great chunk of who she was, he could figure out just fine. Despite life as the daughter of two of the most well-respected figures in the state, she had experiences that her heiress counterparts didn't. His blog didn't bother detailing it, as it hardly met the purpose of a glorified revenge journal, but you could find tales of the Nolan-Blanchard family adopting a thirteen year old girl from the foster system in anywhere from the contents of People to the New York Times.

The tabloids, unlike the more respected newspapers and magazines, jokingly referred to her as The Ugly Duckling. A tasteless reference (Though not out of character, considering their treatment of Chelsea Clinton) to the last name she insisted on keeping. Emma Swan: bounced from foster home from foster home before finding her place with one of the most prominent and loving families in America, is more of a Cinderella story than a transformation of appearance, he thinks, because she had always been radiant smiles and golden curls as long as he can remember knowing her. Not that he would have admitted it years ago, but the point still stood.

He's impatiently waiting for her in a diner that Emma insisted on meeting at while he ponders that the 90s tabloids had absolutely no idea how wrong they had it. There’s a flush in her cheeks and snow in her hair when the bell chimes to signify her arrival. She sends the elderly woman manning the counter a gracious grin that more resembles more of a gesture of a princess than politicians’ daughter. “Good to see you, Mrs. Lucas!”

Their rendezvous point appears to be a low-key establishment with an old-fashioned sign that simply read, “Granny’s”. Emma called him three hours ago to insist at meeting here at four because Henry was home and she trusted the owners more than she would going into a strange man’s apartment by herself. As offended he is by the remark, he supposes, with her lot’s reputation, he should be grateful that he can afford more than half of the things on the menu. Even writers for distinguished magazines didn’t make nearly enough as much as the more affluent city inhabitants. Everything here is cheap and the apple pie he began digging into ten minutes ago is infinitely more satisfying than expensive hors d'oeuvres.

Emma walks over to the booth he’s sitting in, tugging off her scarf and coat in the process. She quirks an eyebrow at the slice of pie he’s currently feasting on before plopping down to sit across from him, but doesn’t comment on it. “Enjoying the venue, Jones?”

“How can I not when I’ve been graced with such fine presence?” he tells her, hand over his mouth to protect his manners while chewing. She snickers, and he can’t decide if it’s at his attempt of decorum or his compliment. “I did get you a present, however.”

Her eyes light up at this, and he can’t help but wonder what other small gestures reap such a reaction from her. “Ooh? Did Tink manage to get into Gold’s assistant's emails?”

Killian gives her a look that he hopes signifies she’s insane to be so delighted with committing possible felonies, hypocrisy laden in that judgement be damned, before sliding a mug in her direction.  “Yes, but that’s not quite what I’m referring to. I’m told this is your drink of choice.”

Emma, in return, sends him a withering glare that conveys her observance of said hypocrisy, which eventually softens as she recognizes the gesture in her hot-mug-holding hands. She spares him a suspicious look before taking a sip. “Hot chocolate with cinnamon? How did you manage to figure that out?”

Killian only tilts his head in the direction of Granny herself, bustling at the front. He manages to catch an absolute imperceptible curve of her lips over the mug she has wrapped her hands around.

It’s gone almost as soon as he sees it and Emma is back to her bon-mot tossing. “So you managed to figure out I’m a regular here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I have a Hardy Boy in my midst.”

It’s lucky he has amassed experience over the past two weeks in sharpening his banter, he supposes. “And here I thought I was Nancy Drew?”

“Nah, I gave you too much credit when you came knocking on my door.” she pinches her face, “Nancy Drew probably would have figured out world domination by now, not just hacking into some poor girl’s inbox.”

“Oi!” he faux-gasps, which fulfills his purpose in eliciting a laugh from her.“That was your idea!”

“I never said I was Nancy Drew, buddy. Just that you weren’t.”

Emma’s grin is infectious, and he can’t help but beam back at her. “I dunno, lass. In these past weeks we’ve become rather well-acquainted. I think you, at this point, could be capable of anything you set your mind to.”

The light comment has the opposite of the opposite of the intended effect when Emma’s expression becomes much too somber for his tastes and he almost kicks himself for clearly crossing a line. Motivational speeches weren’t exactly part of the deal they shook on. So it surprises him when her reaction isn’t describing to him the millions of ways she could do this without him if he hits on her one more time as it’s been for the past fourteen days. “You really think so?”

He hasn’t heard Emma’s voice this vulnerable, not even when describing the manner in which the Gold family had viciously torn apart her life. It forces him to match her in tone and look her straight in the eye. “I have yet to see you fail.”

A beat passes and meaningful gazes are exchanged before Emma seems to deem his words to pass her lie detector. Her broken eye contact and frantic looking around the room as if she’s a caged animal looking for an escape route tells him she has decided this path of conversation has gotten much too serious. “Isn’t this the part where you make some judgemental comment about me choosing this diner out of everything in the city?”

“Ah, why someone of your breed would elect to dine in an establishment with peeling paint and what looks to me to be a jukebox  in the corner is beyond me.” Killian replies offhandedly, waving a hand in the air to keep up an appearance of nonchalance, “But I suppose that’s one aspect of the mystery that is Emma Swan that I can…” he pauses and adopts a raspy tone, breaking the ice for both of their benefits, “unravel another time.”

He has cut back on the innuendos, after all. They have yet to disappear entirely. What would the fun in that be? Never one to disappoint, Emma aims a kick at his shins from under the table. His initial wince and groan are entirely genuine, but he exaggerates them to make it look as if he’s faking his pain. Judging from the smug look on her face, however, he’s failed.

She explains once the pain has ebbed, grabbing his fork in a gesture that’s much more familiar than it needs to be to steal a bite from his plate and further accentuate her point. “If you don’t understand by the food, you’ll understand in a second. You still here Ruby?”

Killian is baffled to see Ruby Lucas in an apron and coming up to serve them in the virtually empty diner, though he suppose he shouldn't be too shocked. Ruby, though around five years younger than he was, was not only attendee but host to several of the Upper East Side's most lavish parties. Ones he, at first, managed to steal an invite to by convincing a nice girl with one to be his date. Later on he earned them himself by kissing the right arses and working for the right magazines.

It hadn’t escaped his attention that Ruby Lucas, the party animal herself, hadn’t been attending the predictable excesses of pomp and grandeur for the past few months. Killian supposes being very publicly disowned by her homophobic city council member father after revealing her relationship with her girlfriend to the public had something to do with it. Last he heard of her she was staying with her grandmother. Who must have been the titular Granny.

It all explains why Emma insisted on this particular establishment. Even before sharing the title of First Class Outcast (He’s still a bit proud of coming up with that title for Emma on his blog.), the two were close friends. It’s why he attempted to use her as an excuse the night Emma have him her key. Any talk of bringing down those who lost interest in Ruby as soon as her bank account whittled wouldn’t fall on overly concerned ears. Like all things Swan does, it’s clever.

“Well, if it isn’t Killian Jones!” Ruby, despite having her life torn out from under her thanks to her ignorant sperm donor, appears as vivacious and charming as ever.

He grins over at her and nods his head in greeting. “Ruby Lucas. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen your lovely face, darling.”

Emma sends him a sharp look, but Ruby takes the possible offense at him noting her absence from the social scene in stride. “I found better company elsewhere, I’m afraid.”

“Indeed you have.  Though I must admit, and I’m sure Emma can testify to this, all occasions without your spark to liven it up have a much more noticeable quantity of self-important prats.” And he meant it. Ruby was one of the few he found tolerable, and he’d taken great care in aiming his posts after her father’s despicable political stunt to attack those who had wronged the poor girl. A little vengeance for everybody. Without her there to talk to in passing at parties, he found himself victim to Jefferson’s drunken mumblings about opening a magic shop.

“Or maybe he’s just been around more mirrors.” Emma adds, more teasing than unkind. “How’s Belle? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Ruby gives both of them a warm grin, clearly grateful for people on her side. “She’s great. We’re great. Speaking of dates, though, are you two...”

Emma’s eyes are comically bulging in her sockets as if someone has dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. Killian bites his lip to keep himself from smiling from ear to ear. Emma is the first to reply, naturally. “He’s not...we’re not…”

“I can see it.” Ruby declares, putting her hands on her hips. “I always told you you two would be good together, didn’t I? Tall, broody, and handsome was just up your alley after all!”

He can’t help it anymore, the nickname has him with his face in his hands to conceal his guffawing. He knew he always liked Ruby.

Emma, unlike her partner in crime, is not as amused. “He’s a business partner. We’re here on business. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Ruby gives her friend a disbelieving look before sashaying away. Killian is still convulsing with laughter. Emma glares at the face still hidden behind his hands. “Keep laughing, Chuckles.”

He manages to regain his composure within the minute of her saying that. “I will, just at another time.”

She’s unsatisfied with that answer, if the scowl she’s still sending in his direction is any means to go by. “So are you going to tell me what Tink found or should I just leave now?”

“I would always prefer if you stayed, darling, but yes - I will.” He’s, as usual, unperturbed by her attitude. “She found a few suspicious emails. Mainly small things, Gold intimidating a congressman here and threatening a lawsuit there. There’s a particular chain that has her suspicious of something bigger, though.”

“Like what?” she whispers, keeping a low voice as if she’s afraid the diner is bugged.

He matches her volume, assuring himself and the niggling in his stomach it’s for benefit only. “She thinks she’s found hints of a coverup of sorts.”

They’re both leaning over to each other as far as the table permits while sitting. “Meaning?”

“Meaning she doesn’t quite know yet, but it’s enough to have her alarm bells ringing,” he tells her, regretful he doesn’t have more information to give her.

“Can she find out what it is? And do you have copies of the emails?”

He hands her a flash drive. “What kind of amateur do you take me for? And no, she doesn’t believe she can given what she has. I, however,” Killian dramatically pauses for effect, “believe we can.”

Emma mulls over the information, gnawing at her lip. “I guess we can figure that out when the time calls for it, huh.”

He grants her a concise nod before moving on to what he’s been curious about for the past two weeks. “I do have one question before we do.”

“Which is?” Emma narrows her eyes. “You’re not going to get down on one knee and declare your undying love for me, are you?”

Killian’s initial response is one of his signature eyebrow raises. “Perhaps at another time.” He moves his neglected plate over to brace his forearms on the table. “I want to know why you’re doing this all now. Why you are deciding to take action with things you’ve had for nearly a decade on the Golds. Why you’ve decided to trust me to do so.”

His request takes her by surprise, he can tell. She contemplates the patterns on the table before answering. “I came into contact with you because Neal is trying to get custody.”

Now it’s Killian’s turn to be startled. “What do you mean, ‘Came into contact with me’? I was the one who came knocking on your door, remember?”

Emma waves her head from side-to-side in a non-committal gesture. “Well, yes and no.”

“Yes and no?” His volume makes Granny turn from her task, fixing a broken coffee maker from the looks of it, to send him a withering look. “Sorry, darling!”

“Yes, you did come knocking on my door. But, if I’m placing my bets correctly, it wasn’t random curiosity that brought you there.”

He can only gape at her. “Humbert.”

She looks more than a little proud of herself, and, he’s able to admit to himself, rightly so. How many times would this woman manage to best him? “What? You think you’re the only one with contacts?”

In his years of doing this, he’d managed to garner his share of sources. Ones that were reliable sober and he only had to coddle minimally. World-renowned male model Graham Humbert was someone he could genuinely call a friend, despite his piss-poor taste in women. He’d been dating Cora Mills’ daughter Regina on and off for several years, after all. Regina reminded him all too much of her mother, so he supposed Graham had his reasons for becoming involved with her. He’d rib Humbert occasionally for it, but it was what made him a confidant that prevented him from pushing him any further than that. Graham confessed his hatred for the people around him, an emotion Killian is sure is warranted but not sure of the details behind it, and in return Killian let him in on his plan for revenge.

And it was a tip from Graham, one that assured him if he wanted to find out more on one of the most infamous families in town that Emma was the person to ask, that led to him showing up at her doorstep in the first place. One that he now knows was not just a tip but a message. “All that work to get me to your place, darling? You know you could have just asked nicely and I would have gladly-”

“Do you have a mode other than innuendo?” Emma glowers at his answering head tilt. “Don’t answer that. But, yeah, I had Graham  tip you off that I had some information on Neal. I didn’t want to confront you directly because that could have aroused suspicion, considering we rarely interact.” He gives her a disbelieving look at this amount of secrecy, but she’s quick to defend herself. “You know Gold has eyes and ears everywhere, so I had hoped that you would have provided discretion. Which, I now know, would have gone completely against your entire personality.”

“I beg your pardon, love?” Killian puts a hand to his heart in mock defense. “I can be very mindful of discretion.”

“Says the guy with the glorified gossip blog.”

“Fair point.” he concedes, “So Neal is vying for your lad now?”

“Yep.” Emma answers acerbically. “He’s lucky I even granted him weekends, but that’s not stopping him from trying to take him away from me entirely.”

“Bastard.” Killian grits out as Emma slinks back into the booth.

“Henry loves him and he loves Henry, though, so I don’t think it’s his doing as much as…”

“Gold’s.” he supplies, knowing the answer before she’s completed her thought.

She nods, appreciating his ability to seamlessly keep on her train of thought. “Exactly. It’s not like Neal to pull something like this without his dad pulling the strings.”

“Even trying to blackmail you to avoid responsibility of a child out-of-wedlock?” he questions, in a move that he acknowledges is perhaps too much.

She seems to let it slide, however. “Especially that…” Emma trails off, determinedly meeting his eyes. “Now that you question my motives, though, I do have a few questions to spare about yours. I think that’s fair, considering all you know about me.”

This may be a painful can of worms to open, but she’s right. It’s only right to offer her the same information she provided him. “For you, darling, I’m an open book.”

“What’s the deal with the Perez Hilton-wannabe page?” It’s always been like her to get straight to the point.

The point that has him genuinely offended. “Perez Hilton? I don’t think I’ve ever been so insulted in my life. Am I honestly that repugnant?”

Emma rolls her eyes as he gestures wildly with his hands to exaggerate his indignation. “Just answer the question, Mario Lopez.”

That’s how he ends up telling her about Liam, against his better judgement. Which leads to him describing his brother’s time in the Navy, his mother’s death, his military aspirations, and his father’s abandonment on the eve of his 13th birthday. He tells her about his brother enrolling in the navy as soon as he was of age, and how Liam came into the position of guardian when he wasn’t much older than a child himself. His mother’s name was Diana and she got very sick when he was barely old enough to walk, but he still was able to remember the exact scent of her perfume. His father isn’t worth explaining beyond the fact that he made sure he wouldn’t be able to be found.

She reciprocates with tales of foster care and the path that led her towards the family jokingly (and appropriately) labeled the Charmings. She took her last name from her first home, the one that gave her up when they had a kid of their own. She kept it at first because she came to know that all the rest are temporary, anyway, and let it remain when she came to accept that David and Mary Margaret would always be there for her because she didn’t have the heart to let it go. Emma is ridiculously cautious with spending money (the expensive couch in her apartment was a well-maintained hand-me-down from David’s mother) and she snuck out and got a tattoo of a buttercup on her wrist when she was fourteen because she had just wanted to see if she could push her parents away like she did with all her other foster families (she couldn’t).

It’s the tattoo on her wrist which leads to him divulging everything on the tattoo on his. He rolls up his sleeve, where Milah’s name is still imprinted, and Emma’s gaze on speaks of an understanding before he even opens his mouth to explain. Killian tells her he never meant to fall in love with Gold’s wife, a woman twice his age, while he was still in college. He just wanted dirt on the family, it’s all he ever wants. But it didn’t go according to plan in the slightest, and convincing pleas for information led to sneaking around in penthouses and stealing kisses in areas they’d assumed were camera free. Emma takes his hand, instinctively, when he explains that of course they were wrong in thinking no one would ever find out. When Gold caught wind of his wife’s infidelity, he and his lawyers were less than merciful on the two lovers. Killian even lost his scholarship to NYU and ended up having to finish his bachelors at a local community college.

His voice is raw and her hand hasn’t moved from his when he gets to the fact that Milah was stripped of custody of her son and every dime to her name. Milah told him not to go with her when she moved to England to stay with family there. So he didn’t.

By the time Emma is finished explaining the details of her relationship with Neal in return, (She doesn’t think he was a bad guy, not really. She knows he loves Henry, but she also knows his father had too much pull over him and he never grew enough of a backbone to stand up to him.) Granny is flipping the old-fashioned sign so the word “closed” is showing from the storefront. She gives both of them a pointed look, and Killian is surprised to discover it’s been hours since he first arrived at the diner.

Killian gets up to don his coat. Emma does the same, shooting the diner’s patron an embarrassed glance as she heads to leave. He holds the door open for her with a remark about always being a gentleman that she snorts at, but the surrounding air has gone entirely too tense. He has a feeling they both divulged far more than they meant to tonight.

Judging by the carefully disconnected tone Emma adopts, he was right. “So, you have a plan from here? On figuring out whatever,” she grins in spite of herself, “government conspiracy we need to uncover?”

They’re walking down the snow-covered streets of Manhattan, arms-length apart because any closer and it may venture into territory neither of them are ready for. Killian, idiotically, catches himself with his eyes on his boots like a blushing schoolboy. “Not quite, though I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out.”

She nods at this, satisfied with the answer. The wind is whipping her blonde hair, so she’s forced to wrestle it behind her ear in a gesture Killian finds much too endearing. “Stay in touch?”

“Always,” he replies, too quickly. Emma grants him a warm grin, one that lights up her face, before walking away from him to flag a taxi.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say this partnership just turned into something resembling a friendship.

  
  
  



	3. so much for answers (i don't have a clue)

 

“Wait, why do you have flowers?”

It’s three weeks after their meeting (that was definitely not a date) when Killian Jones shows up on her doorstep to discuss their next move -- with buttercups in his hands, apparently.

“Do you not like them?” Killian, leaning against her doorframe just like he did a month ago, looks from her to the flowers, puzzled.

Emma’s brow furrows at his response. “I don’t know why you have them.”

“Oh,” he comments, adjusting the bouquet in his hands. “what kind of guest would I be if I didn’t bring something?”

“The kind that is only here to scheme with me on how to disassemble parts of a glorified oligarchy,” Emma deadpans.

Killian shrugs, so Emma exasperatedly gestures for him to come inside. “There’s a vase in the cupboards somewhere, I’ll go find one. Henry?”

If Killian is alarmed at the prospect of meeting her nine year old son with no warning, he doesn’t show it. Her son, appearing from the hallway to Killian’s left, doesn’t look a lot like her in the little things like his eye and hair color. Killian would be able to tell they were related just from his frankness, though.

Henry takes one look at Killian, namely the bouquet he’s holding, and asks, “Are you my mom’s new boyfriend or something?”

Emma sputters and Killian attempts to mask his laughter as a terrible cough. He fails miserably.

“No, Henry, he’s just…” Emma searches for an explanation, “a friend from work.”

Henry accepts this, though he does glance a little suspiciously at Killian. “Oh, you mean with Operation Eagle?”

Killian raises an eyebrow at this in question, but Emma ignores him. “Exactly. Do you know where I put the vase?”

“I’m on it, Mom!” Henry replies, making off to the kitchen cheerily. Emma can’t help but let a soft smile bloom on her face at just the little cheerful things her son exhibits. Hopefully, she’d never have to see it disappear for a second.

“Operation Eagle, love?” Killian asks teasingly, biting back a grin at her responding eye-roll.

“It’s what he calls my mom’s plans to run for president,” Emma tells him.

“Huh.” Killian ponders at the news, setting the flowers down on a nearby end-table. He strips off his coat and flops onto her couch. “I suppose I’m not surprised.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen anything out of that kid yet. Just wait until Henry gets wind of the fact you’re a writer.” Emma huffs, sinking on a nearby armchair. “It’s his dream job, you know, except in a different way. He’s even written little short stories about his favorite fairy tale characters. One has Red Riding Hood as the wolf herself, another has Snow White as a totally badass bandit, and one even has Peter Pan going all weird and evil. My favorite, though, is the story he wrote with Captain Hook and the Swan Princess falling in love.”

“Never would’ve pegged you as the romantic type, Swan,” he tells her teasingly.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Jones.” Emma says with a glint in her eyes. “I mean it with the writer thing, though. He’s probably going to set you up for a full-scale interview and become your biggest fan.”

Killian grins, visibly touched. Her face becomes visibly somber for some unknown reason, so he redirects the conversation. “You didn’t call me over to discuss your child’s proclivity for imaginative interpretations, Swan.”

“Right!” Emma replies quickly, readjusting her posture in the chair. “Graham called, he said he has a plan for tonight. It sounded a little fishy, but-”

Killian shakes his head. “That’s not it, though, is it?”

“Huh?” Emma questions, looking a little lost.

“That may be why you called me over, Swan, but a very different issue is weighing on you,” he explains, feeling a little triumphant when he can tell by her body language that he’s right on the mark.

“Well,” Emma begins carefully,“You would never guess who I had a conversation with…”

“You’re one surprise after another, Swan,” he retorts easily, “but I am curious as to exactly what this could be pertaining to.”

She decides to cut to the chase. “Robert Gold showed up on my doorstep. He said he wanted to talk.”

Killian’s face immediately pales, already assuming the worst. “Does he know? Did he say anything? I swear to God if he laid a hand on you,”

Emma cuts him off before he can describe the various ways he wishes to disembowel the aging politician. “Whoa, bucko, slow your horses. He didn’t give anything away about knowing what we’ve been up to and even if he did, I fight my own battles.” Killian visibly relaxes, but the wary look still in his eyes prompts her to continue. “He decided to bid me a house call about Neal.”

“The custody suit he’s planning on filing?” Kilian fills in.

“Yeah. He said he’d have him drop it.”

“That’s excellent news, Swan!” he exclaims jubilantly, looking off in the direction of the kitchen where Henry is still hunting for that vase. “Though I would wonder what would convince him to let it go.”

“He said he’d drop it if I agreed to marry Neal.” Emma answers, tugging a piece of hair behind her ear.

Killian blinks, certain he had heard that wrong. “Pardon?”

“Gold said,” she steels the fury laden in her voice, attempting to keep it as level as possible, “it would be an excellent example of bipartisanship. One that was sure to sway voters come 2016. One that would be sure to help him in the polls.”

Killian leans as far as his seat on the couch permits him, making a point to look directly into her eyes. “You’ll win, Swan. With the evidence we already have, you don’t need to consider it.”

They don’t get to finish their conversation before Henry comes bounding into the room, vase in hand.

 

\--

“How do you even have a key to Gold’s place, Graham?” Emma asks, examining the gaudy fur throws and polished wood of Robert Gold’s living room with a healthy amount of distaste. Killian looks equally as unimpressed with the owner’s home decor taste, if the stink-eye he’s giving the bright orange couch is anything to go by. Gold evidently left his lights on, too rich to mind excessively high power bills. Which worked out quite well for them.

“Cora had one.” Graham admits, self-consciously fiddling with the keychain in his hands. “Just lifted it from her when I visited her place with Regina.”

“Your pick-pocket skills could put me to shame.” Emma jokes, grimacing at the stuffed eagle perched on the fireplace’s mantel before the group begins venturing into the closest hallway.

“Suppose that’s a benefit of practically being kept as Regina’s prisoner.”

Graham flinches almost imperceptibly.  “Right.” he clears his throat, still walking down the hallway that seemed to go on forever with the other two. “Almost as big of a benefit as having an English accent despite not stepping foot in the country since you were five.”

“As I’ve already explained to you, Humbert, my father and my brother had the accent which then caused…”

Emma’s annoyed grumbling cuts him off. “Alright, Killian, shut up about your fake accent so Graham can tell us what we’re looking for.”

“About that….” Graham stills, looking flushed. “I don’t suppose now is a good time to admit I haven’t the faintest clue what we’re looking for, other than the fact that it’s dirt on Cora, is it?”

Emma’s groan and Killian’s exasperated sigh answer the question wordlessly.

\--

After almost destroying several pieces of Gold’s furniture in desperation to find something, a lot of rummaging, and more ‘Bloody hell!’s than Emma is ever going to need to hear in her life, they finally find something in a master bedroom safe.

Emma had much too easy of a time opening with nothing but an hour and her ear (Neal at least taught her something worthwhile during their minor heists, she supposes). She lets out a cry of victory when she finally gets the damn thing to open, which interrupts Killian from his digging through Gold’s nightstand.

“You’re bloody brilliant, amazing, Swan.” Killian laughs, moving from the other side of the room to kneel beside her as she begins sorting through the contents of the safe.

“Find anything?” Graham asks from another room, having long given up on finding anything in Gold’s bedroom.

“I got the safe open!” Emma calls.

“Finally!” Graham exclaims, making his way into the room just as Emma pulls out a DVD case.

“Holy shit.” Emma mutters as she reads the label.  She passes them over to Killian and Graham, who soon have equally dumbfounded looks on their faces.

\--

“Rather ironic, don’t you think?” Killian asks after they have seen entirely too much of the tapes Emma dug out of the safe. “He drives his wife out of town for adultery when he’s been keeping a video diary on his mistress.”

“Probably without her ever knowing.” Emma adds

“This type of footage would make excellent blackmail material.” Graham adds.

“The press is always more likely to disgrace a female for having an affair than a man.” Emma remarks wryly. “Remember Monica Lewinsky?”

“Not just that,” Killian answers,  “it’d likely result in her getting a divorce from a man with a very stringent prenup.”

Emma gives him a disbelieving look,“Should I even ask how you know the details of Cora and Leonard’s prenup?”

“Let’s just say I likely know the contents based on prior experience with…” he appears to search for the appropriate phrase, leaving his gesturing hand in midair. “their ilk.”

Emma takes a moment to understand what he’s getting at. “By “their ilk” you mean Milah and Gold.”

Killian, noticing that she elected to phrase it as a statement rather than a question, attempts to gloss over the subject. “Rather besides the point, don’t you suppose, Swan?”

“True enough.” Emma accepts, though her tone indicates their conversation isn’t far from over.

Graham taps at the case of the DVDs pointedly, still leaning in the doorway. “I suppose neither of you mind if I made copies of these?”

Emma sends him a troubled expression. “Won’t Gold notice if his sex tapes go missing?”

Graham gives her an apathetic sort of shrug, which only serves to trouble her more.

“You’re one of my oldest friends, I can’t ask you to risk yourself like this!” Emma comes to stand angrily in front of him, her voice rising. She whirls her upper-body back to face Killian, again, in a clear plea for him to side with her. “We can’t ask you to risk yourself like this, Graham. Killian, tell him we can find another way to figure this out.”

Before Killian can open his mouth to respond, Graham holds his hand up to signal for him to stay out of it. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure my own freedom and make sure the people I care about are safe, Emma.”

“Your freedom?” Suddenly it all makes a sickening amount of sense and the amount her head is spinning forces her to sit down on the bed. Graham’s long relationship with Regina without him seemingly being able to tolerate her. Graham bringing Emma and Killian together because he knew they would be the only people with the drive and tools to do this.

Killian beats her to her conclusion, seating himself next to Emma. “Gold isn’t the only one with an penchant for extortion, is he mate?”

Graham gives the both of them a sad smile, sliding down to sit with his back against the doorframe. “Before…” he takes a breath to steady himself. “before I met either of you, I wasn’t the man you know today. I didn’t go to college. With no parents and no friends, I barely graduated from high school. But I did have one skill,”

Emma leans forward, with her hand cradling her chin and her elbow propped on her thigh in rapt attention. Killian nods for him to continue.

“I found myself rather adept at hunting and got a hunting license as soon as I was eligible. I made a living selling my game, for a while. Apparently, I eventually became good enough that I caught the eye of someone who needed an expert marksman who was good at staying under the radar. Regina contacted me and asked me to do something for her on behest of her mother.”

Emma’s face pinches in confusion. “Wait, why would she need an animal hunter to work for her?”

Graham scrubs at his face, keeping his gaze on the carpet in shame. “She asked me to shoot your mother, Emma.”

“And you didn’t even consider it, right Graham?” Emma insists, desperately ignoring the shame on his face. ‘Right?”

“I’m not proud to say I thought about it, Emma. Selling dead animals hardly keeps the electricity on, and I was in such a dark place that...she offered me millions. I initially told her yes. Eventually, I came to my sense. I knew myself well-enough that   I went over to her mansion and told Regina to go fuck herself, but I was already too late. She played a recording of me agreeing to kill Mary Margaret, one with her side of the conversation conveniently trimmed out, and told me if I went against any of her wishes, it would go straight to the police.”

“Does she still want you to kill my mother?” Emma’s voice is bordering on hysterical, so Killian clasps a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down.

“It’s been years, love. I’m sure she has long since abandoned any plans that absurd.” Killian looks pointedly at Graham, letting his hand fall from Emma. “I’m sure Humbert would let us know if she hadn’t.”

Graham doesn’t take offense to the comment, only nods his assent. “Jones is right, Emma. She realized an assassination attempt on that public of a figure would do her more harm than good. Your mother isn’t in any mortal danger.”

She can’t keep the accusation out of her voice. “Then what kind of danger is she in?”

Graham gets up from his position on the floor to begin pacing; frustration clearly showing in his voice.“It’s not her who’s in danger, Emma. It’s you. Regina and Cora, who are being played as much of the rest of us by Gold, as I’m sure you can tell by these tapes, want her to be so publicly disgraced they’ll have no competition come November for the White House. My guess on their plan? They’ll make you out to be the worst mother and human being on the planet in the custody battle through whatever means necessary. That way, Mary Margaret is too busy comforting you over losing custody of your son to even contemplate running for the highest office in this country. Even if she does decide to run, they’ll drag up the witnesses they’re planning on bribing for your custody case to make the both of you look so terrible she has no shot at winning.”  

“I suppose Gold will leak the tapes in the primary and make Regina look like the sender? So he can put an end to any chance she has in the primary by framing her as someone who would stoop so low as to leak her own mother’s sex tape. With your mother out of the way, that would give him a clear path to the White House. Which is exactly why we need to turn Gold’s plan to backfire on him while we can.” Killian gravely surmises.

“Then why does Regina…” Emma trails off, uncertain how to phrase ‘Why are you pretending to date a woman who is threatening to land you in prison for life?’’ in a sensitive way.

Graham stills his pacing and gives them a bitter smile. “She had found...other uses for me and my pretty face.”

Emma can feel the blood leaving her face and for a moment she’s too overwhelmed to reply. "She's keeping you as her sex slave." When she looks down at her hands she's surprised to discover they're shaking in anger. She rises from her seat on the bed to envelop Graham in a tight hug. "We're going to get you out of this, Graham.”

His arms come to wrap around her waist like they have so many times before over the course of their friendship. Graham smiles softly and lifts the hand not grasping the DVDs to cup her cheek. “I know you will.”

“We have your back, mate.” Killian chimes in, now leaning against the bed frame with his hands in his pockets. “These power-hungry bastards have ruined lives for far too long.”

Graham accepts this, too, but with a much somber smile. “Let’s hope with what we managed to find today we can end all this once and for all.”

“I’m going to be so pissed if anything happens to you because of this.” Emma mutters into his leather-clad shoulder. Graham chuckles into her hair, but only runs his hand up and down her back in reassurance. “You think I’m kidding. If you die, I will drag your body from the morgue to kill you again.”

Before she can threaten him further, the sound of a door opening reverberates through the house. Emma disentangles herself from him to send both men in the room frantic looks.

“The door opened on the other side of the house, both of you need to get out in the back door I showed to you when we first got here.” Graham whispers urgently, motioning for them to leave the room as quickly as possible.

“And leave you behind? I don’t think so, you’re coming with us.” Emma tells him as ferociously as a whisper allows her to be.

“I’ll be right behind you, just go!” His words combined with the fragility of the situation force Emma to comply, with Killian on her heels. Before Killian can get his foot through the door, though, Graham grabs him by the sleeve. “Jones, make sure she doesn’t come back here if I’m not back in 20 minutes.”

Killian jerks in surprise, but nods in assent. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t. But if you aren’t back in 25 and I can’t get into contact with you, I will come back here for you myself.”

He sees Graham give him one last shy, grateful grin before he disappears to follow Emma out of the mansion.

\--

“I can’t believe we just left him there.” Emma tells Killian once they have safely maneuvered their way out of Gold’s neighborhood. Her voice is as frantic as her steps have been for the past block. He’s had to forcibly prevent her from going back there three times now, and he has bruises to prove it. “Especially after knowing what we do about what Regina and Gold are capable of. We should have-”

“Should have what, Swan?” Killian grits out, moving to block her path to force her to stop walking. His eyes meet hers in a plea to make her understand. “Stuck around to allow Gold to put us in handcuffs? Breaking and entering is a felony, Emma.”

She huffs angrily, making a point to move past him. “Which is exactly why I’m worried. Graham could go to prison for helping us. Or, knowing Gold, even worse.”

Killian doesn’t to hide his irritation as he once again attempts to match her stride. “If you weren’t so busy cursing my name and trying to walk into your own jail cell, you would have known I texted him a moment ago.”

“A text?” Emma moans sarcastically and resists the temptation to restart her old habit of biting her nails. She settles for anxiously clenching her fists, pressing her nails into the palms of her hands. “If I’d have known you texted him - presumably without reply - I would’ve felt a lot better! It’s not like knowing he’s out of contact will make me feel even worse because he has the potential to be in even more danger!”

“Emma, I told him  that I would go back for him by myself if he isn’t responding in 25-” Killian’s phone vibrates, both forcing him to quit talking and lifting a weight off of his shoulders. He lets out a sigh of relief when he checks it. “Graham texted me back. He said he’s fine.”

He can almost see the stress leave her body. Emma’s eyes flutter shut, visibly thankful for her friend’s safety. “Thank God. Or Gold, or whatever.”

Killian chuckles at this, and instinctively reaches with both hands to unclench hers. She gapes at him in surprise at the affectionate gesture, but he’s already massaging the indentations her nails left. Killian seems just as taken aback by the gesture as she is, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he clasps them more firmly and brings them to his chest. Neither of them seem to know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Killian opens his mouth, presumably to object to her apology, but she continues, “I’ve just...I’ve known Graham since I graduated college. He’s one of my oldest friends. If something happened to him, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Killian nods to signify he understands, but gives no reply. His hands are still latched onto her’s and there is a miniscule amount of space between them.

She proceeds talking when he doesn’t respond. “But I guess you and I have known each other for even longer. You were a row behind me in my Political Science class freshman year, after all.”

Killian gawks at her, and she can’t resist the temptation to laugh at his expression.

“What? Impressed with my observation skills, Jones?” she asks airily.

“I suppose I’m stunned you remembered. I was the first night I wound up on your door and you recalled exactly who I was.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” she jokes, “Besides, how could I forget the hot guy who would always get so riled up about how chemical weapons and drone strikes breached your personal code of ‘fighting fair’.”

Killian grins from ear to ear. Next thing she knows, he’s bringing his hands to her hips in an intimate gesture and swaying them from side to side. “Hot, eh?”

“You don’t need me to stroke your ego,” she scoffs, telling herself that the only reason she hasn’t disentangled herself from him is because she just can’t be bothered to.

He swallows his retort involving other things she was more than welcome to stroke. “Clearly, you’re not as observant as you think you are, love.”

“Oh?” she defiantly juts her chin out at him, “how so?”

The hands he placed on her hips have now progressed to arms wrapped around her waist and she’s embarrassed to discover her hands have come to rest on his shoulders. Killian seems nonplussed by the embrace they’ve found themselves in. “If you were really that observant, you would have noticed the hopeless crush my poor younger self had on you.”

She gives him one of her patented ‘are-you-kidding’ expressions.

“It’s true, you were in front of me, of course, so you couldn’t see the longing gazes I sent in your direction,” he admits, sounding more cheeky than ashamed, “Unfortunately for the younger incarnation of me, you were quite unattainable. Practically royalty, you were, and that eliminated any courage I would have to ask the pretty girl with the ponytail in the third row out. That coupled with my pitifully long hair.”

Emma laughs. “Didn’t you use to have a ponytail yourself?” At his grimace, she continues. “And then you moved on to insulting me in your newsletter.”

Killian winces, removing a hand on her waist to place it on his heart in mock-offense. “I reveal my 18 year old self’s deepest desire to you and you go straight for the throat, Swan?”

“Maybe your 18 year old self deserved that,” she thinks for a moment, glancing at his arm that’s resuming its position latched around her,  before adding, “and a haircut.”

“Well,” his countenance becomes unexpectedly more serious, “For what it’s worth, if I would have known I would have staged a runaway from one of the most powerful men in the country’s home with Emma Swan, perhaps I would have considered that there was more to all this than revenge.”

“Like what?” Emma challenges.

Killian lifts a hand to finger at one of the blonde curls framing her face, and she’s puzzled at the fact she hasn’t shied away from him yet. Or run away as fast as her boots would take her, as she has a tendency to do when she gets too close to someone. “Perhaps prevent a ferocious lass from getting herself arrested a few times on a quaint walk out of a possible crime scene.”

Emma softens, suppressing her flight instinct for the moment. “You didn’t have to stick around after we left, you know.”

“Yes I did.” he tells her, and her lie detector can tell he isn’t lying.

She stares at him for a moment, then, unsure to do with the information. Emma decides to go with the simplest response. “Thank you.”

“You didn’t have to thank me, darling.” Killian nearly pants, and Emma is suddenly all-too aware at how much they’re pressed together.“Perhaps gratitude is in order...” he trails off suggestively, bringing a finger to tap at his lips. She’s smart enough to know that its his default tactic. He flirts when he’s uncomfortable like she gets the hell out of dodge when she is. One person with a strange coping mechanism knows another, and all that. That’s all this was.

Emma plays along, despite recognizing that his usual tell when he’s uncomfortable is missing and replaced with something very different that she’s unable to pinpoint. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

He leisurely examines her face, and she knows by his expression her eyes have probably darkened considerably. “If you had broken your way back in there like you likely were planning…” at her affronted look, he explains himself, “Please, love, you’re an open book. Point is, you would have ended up in a very uncomfortable cell if not for me…”

Emma can tell he’s bluffing, and removes herself from his all-too-warm embrace instead of retorting.

Killian frowns, but resumes speaking. “Is that all your freedom is worth to you?”

Emma knows he’s bluffing. He’s not serious. There was absolutely no harm in flirting back because nothing would come out of it. They’ve danced around each other long enough for her to know that. “Please, you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” The look in his eyes exhibits a clear challenge

.Emma has always been terrible at resisting challenges.

 

Before either of them know it, Emma grasps him by the collar of his jacket to force his lips to meet hers. Killian is unresponsive for less than a millisecond, before responding to the kiss with a force to rival hers. One of his hands tangles into her curls, the other resuming its position enfolded around her. She still has one hand furled into his lapel, and the other curls itself into his hair. Neither of them notice the breathy pants they’re both making that are definitely not suitable for a very public place.

Both of them do notice that they need to come up for air. Emma rests her forehead on his, both of them still recovering. She’s close to coming for seconds, her lips hovering centimeters away from his.

“That was…” Killian begins, once he has collected enough of his breath to form words recognizable in the English language.

Emma finishes for him, albeit with a very different ending than what he was intending. “A one time thing.”

He doesn’t have a witty quip.

Her flight instinct has kicked in now, anyways. “My apartment building is that way, I should go.”

“It’s dangerous this time of night, I can-”

“It’s a safe neighborhood.” Emma insists, “Just...don’t follow me.”

Killian watches her go, taking absolutely no pleasure in the fact she looked back at him before going her merry way, even if a corner of his mind is going absolutely crazy at the glimpse of green eyes. A writer and a flirt he was, but a sap he was not. His lips aren’t tingling and he curses himself for having his fingers still on his lips as if they were. He’s not dazed and bewildered from one goodnight kiss on the middle of a New York City sidewalk.

And most importantly, he wasn’t in love with Emma Swan. That would be beyond preposterous. They were complete opposites in every way (except in their backgrounds and their getting fucked over by the same people and the way they take their alcohol and the crowd they both associated with when necessary but hated otherwise and their fierce protectiveness over people they loved and, well, that was all beside the point anyway) and anything he felt was purely a result of his competitive streak. He’s always loved a challenge, and Emma is no different. Killian’s attracted to lots of people, he can’t help it. Just because he spends a lot of time with Emma doesn’t mean that sexual tension is anything deeper than just that. It was just one kiss, that's it. It was nothing more.

Killian continues to assure himself of this on the walk back to his apartment, kicking a piece of litter in frustration that he even has to convince himself of anything. Why should he? He certainly doesn’t get a tug in his gut when she looks at him with a twinkle in her eyes and he damn sure didn’t get more breathless than a bloody blushing teenaged girl when she grabbed him by his lapel and kissed the life out of him. Those were two things that were not correlated to sexual tension by itself and were too closely linked to the emotion he was not feeling in the slightest. And he knows he’s not feeling anything akin to it because love brings nothing but wasted years and endless torment and he knows that more than anyone.

He repeats the words “I’m not in love with Emma Swan” in his head like a mantra for the rest of the way home.

\--

Emma is rudely awoken from her slumber at six in the morning by a shrill ringing of her phone from the nightstand. Cursing Killian for being a morning person, she picks up without looking at the Caller I.D. “Dammit, Killian, you couldn’t wait until normal people have woken up?”

“As much as I appreciate the new moniker, Miss Swan, I don’t believe I’m who you’re looking for.”

She recognizes the voice and freezes. “How the hell did you get this number, Gold?”

“Now, now, Miss Swan, is that any way you want to speak to someone who has footage to prove you’ve been breaking and entering into his home?” Gold carefully masks his tone with indifference, and that makes Emma even more flustered than if he started screaming at her.

She figures that was his intention and exhales in an attempt to calm herself down. Emma manages to gather enough presence of mind to open her call recording application before continuing. She presses record.  “What do you want, Gold?”

“I think you don’t really quite understand whom it is you’re dealing with. Why don’t you turn on the news before you forget, hm?” Gold instructs, and she can tell he has on a crocodile smile on the other end of the line.

She obeys, left with no other alternative, and opens a news site on her phone. When she sees the first headline she nearly throws up.

“You’d do best to remember my earlier offer, dearie.” is all Gold says before hanging up.

\--

Killian forgets all about the words he repeated to himself when he wakes up to a shrill ringtone the next morning.

Emma’s name is on the Caller I.D. so he picks it up before it has a chance to ring a third time, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once he hears how frantic Emma’s voice is, to the point of being unintelligible, it becomes much easier to wake up.

Her panic is making him nervous, but he tries to keep his voice as soothing as possible. “Slow down, love, what are you saying?”

“Turn on the news. Local or national, it doesn’t matter.” her voice, though he’s now able to understand it, is hysterical and he can tell she’s letting the words out in between sobs.

He follows her order, walking into his living room to flick the station to the first news station he can think of. The headline makes him almost drop the phone.

_Graham Humbert found dead of a drug overdose._

__   
  



	4. where will you go running when the grounds end?

 

After the disastrous phone call, he doesn’t see Emma for a week.

He doesn’t see much of anyone for a week, as he’s holed up in his apartment evading both his brother’s attempt at condolence and impatient calls from his work that eventually end in voicemails conceding they see he needed his space to grieve. Liam later adopts a similar stance, leaving Killian alone to furiously and mechanically type at all hours of the day.

His brother says he thinks it’s healthy for Killian to work out his grief, but after retyping the eighth rendition of what he’s sure is a scathing and damning post to prove Gold for the devil he was once and for all he isn’t so sure. It’s never right; the structure is scattered and his grammar would make his instructors ashamed of him. So he rewrites it over and over again in hopes of it eventually transforming into something that would get justice for the man who was raped and murdered thanks to power-hungry, psychopathic, blood-thirsty vultures.

Killian finally leaves draft number 28 to attend Graham’s funeral.

It’s a very public affair, set in the graveyard where he was being buried. Graham had no family to speak of, of course, so the main speaker at his funeral was his beloved girlfriend. Killian acknowledged her as his abuser, but what was really the difference to these people? It’s the same crowd from the parties and dinners and benefits, after all. The same ones that pointedly ignore each bit of corruption their lot is guilty of and cover it up when it becomes glaringly obvious. He can only pick a handful out of the plethora of attendees that Graham actually considered a friend.

To add insult to injury, they aren’t the only guests. A handful of photographers have come to celebrate the occasion and sedate the gluttony of their pocketbooks. A shot of a tearful female celebrity meant a twist to “expose” a dead model and a soap opera star’s long and dramatic affair. Killian supposes a copy would sell thousands.

It’s just entertainment to most of them, after all. Industry never sleeps, not even for the dead. Regina got to shed her crocodile tears over her unwilling lover while his murderer carefully looks on from the audience. Celebrities garnered publicity for attending such an event. Paparazzi profited off of it. The funeral was nothing but a farce for media attention. It was just a show.

It’s around the fourth flute of champagne that Killian decides if they want a show, they’ll give him one. Regina and her guests of honor have at last wrapped up their poignant speeches, and the floor is now open to the rest of the guests.

Killian is the first to stand up, not even asking before taking the pulpit. He sees Emma now, before he wasn’t able to spot her from his seat, and she’s making an expression at him that begs him to not do anything stupid.

Killian was always pitiful at obeying instruction.

“I’ve been...quite the mess following Graham’s death, I admit.” he begins, clearing his throat. “He was one of my closest friends, so his death came as quite a shock to me...especially given the cause of his death. Drug overdose? Graham?”

He hopes Gold can hear every word he’s saying.

“Funny thing is, though, is if that you knew Graham, you would know he has never touched drugs. Not once! In his life!” he exclaims with a sort of maniacal laughter, “He once bit my ear off after seeing me smoke a cigarette once. So why would he turn up dead in his bathtub as result of a heroine overdose? Did he just decide to ‘try it out’ in the middle of the night?”

Gold tightens his grip on his cane from row three, and his son seems incredibly confused. Killian notices Emma isn’t sitting far from where they are, but he continues his track despite the twist of worry in his gut.

Killian lets the audience take a moment to digest his words before resuming his eulogy. “As a matter of fact, why don’t we just make sure, for our consciences, that we track down his dealer? Make sure he doesn’t give anyone else an overdose and expose them to that much product? Perhaps,” he gestures to where Gold is sitting, “our legislative branch can examine this more carefully in the future. I believe Representative Gold has made his platform very firm when it comes to the War on Drugs.”

Gold’s answering glare warns Killian he’s playing with fire, but he’s beyond caring.

“And you, Mayor Mills. Perhaps we can look into expending city resources for this cause that is so close to your heart?” Regina has a far from pleasant expression on her face when Killian points a finger in her direction. “Perhaps you can consider that after you’re done considering that proposal on your desk to further assistance for sexual assault survivors.”

The indignant look on Regina’s face tells him his speech did its job.

“Enjoy the rest of the funeral, everyone.” he finishes, exiting from the podium and ignored the shell-shocked and offended expressions of the audience. Killian is sure the paparazzi are already drafting headlines of his pivot from the deep-end, but he can’t find it within himself to give a damn.

He storms off to a more secluded part of the graveyard in desperation to get away from his friends’ murderers and the bloodsucking leeches that fed off of the attention Graham’s corpse provided. Leaning one arm onto a nearby tree that hides his visibility from the funeral, he finally allows himself to breakdown and cry for one of his closest friends.

He’s vulnerable, in this instance.

Which, of course, means that Emma is on her way over.

Killian hears the crunch of her boots on the snow before he sees her, so he makes a valiant effort at wiping the tear streaks from his face before turning around to face her. He stops rubbing at his eyes when he sees her cheeks are similarly wet.

“Long time no talk, huh?” Emma’s voice breaks on the last word, and her arms are tightly wound around herself to protect her from the cold and the less physical

“I suppose that’s one way of saying it, love.” he replies, keeping his voice as light as possible. The sides of Emma’s lips quirk, but a lone tear manages to escape from her. He leans over to her to wipes it off instinctively.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” she murmurs so softly he almost misses it.

Killian nods, his hand still carefully drying the tears on her cheeks. He can’t help but be reminded of the night Graham died, when they were even closer than they were now.

When he realized he was in love with her.

“You can tell me anything.” he murmurs.

Emma’s eyes flutter closed as she comes up to grasp the gloved hand that was stroking her face. When they open again they’re hard and cold, and his hand was moved by her back to his side. “Gold made it pretty clear what I needed to do to keep custody.” her voice doesn’t break, but it’s brittle. Killian can see a glitter on the hand that just removed his.

It’s an engagement ring.

He feels as if someone has punched him in the gut. “You can’t be serious. You can’t be honestly considering this, Emma.”

She flinches at his volume and tone, putting a finger to her lips to signal for him to keep it down. Emma peers cautiously around the tree to verify they don’t have any eavesdroppers. “I’m done being selfish, Killian. I can’t just wake up every morning wondering who’s next.”

“Even if that means prostituting yourself?” he regrets the inquiry as soon as it leaves his mouth and her answering flinch makes his blood run cold.

“Call me a whore one more time,” she threatens venomously, “and we’re done here.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Exchanging yourself like an object? You’re not, Emma. You don’t deserve to be treated like one. You can’t let Gold reduce you to this.” he desperately pleas, begging her to understand that she didn’t have to do this to herself,  “Trust me, we can find a way out of this.”

“And then what, Killian?” she challenges, “And then you’re the next one I find dead of a drug overdose on the news? Or the next one who dies by a hanging meant to look like a suicide?”

He "softens, “I won’t leave you alone in this, Emma.”

“Or Henry!” she exclaims, fighting to keep her voice low, “Gold has already made it pretty damn clear he doesn’t care if my son is caught up in the collateral damage. Either I go by what he wants or everyone I love is at risk, don’t you understand that?”

“The answer to that isn’t putting yourself at risk, Swan.” Killian tells her, his desperation on full display. “Don’t do this.”

“Neal won’t do anything to me, I know him better than that. I’ll be just fine.” she dismisses.

“You’ll be just fine being forced into a marriage by Gold for his unknown plots, Emma?” he echos in disbelief. “You deserve better than this, Emma.”

Emma scoffs, hunching away from him. He winces. “I deserve better or you do?” she challenges, and Killian knows she’s just trying to prod a wound to get him to back off of her, “Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have an ulterior motive in this.”

“An ulterior motive like what, Swan?” he rebuts, refusing to let her shut him out.

Emma straightens her posture, adopting the harsh look she hasn’t trained on him since the first night they met. “You tell me.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt by it. “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me?”

“Your feelings have a tendency to cloud your judgement.” she coldly replies, and he can’t help but laugh.

“My feelings?” he asks, carefully examining her face,  “I thought it was about my motives.”

She tightens her arms further around herself. “Who says they’re mutually exclusive?”

“So, it’s about the kiss then?” her silence answers his question for her. “In which case I’d like to point out that you kissed me, love, not the other way around.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Emma insists, “None of this can.”

“Maybe it can’t because you won’t let it, Emma.” he lowers his voice to a plea, “What can I do to prove to you that I won’t leave like everyone else has?”

Emma swallows, hand coming up to her forehead and mind desperately trying to ignore what he’s saying because she just can’t deal with this right now on top of everything else. “Killian, just don’t.”

“Do you want me to be honest with you?” Killian ignores the way Emma is furiously shaking her head, “Tell you that until I met you, I thought I never would be able to move on from Milah? Is that what you want?”

“No!” the fact that she can tell he’s being completely honest is bothering her in ways it shouldn’t.  “I didn’t want any of this. I just want to make sure my kid is safe. My feelings for you shouldn’t be what matters here.”

The words don’t ring as triumphantly in Killian’s ears as they should. “Ah, at least you admit you have feelings for me.”

Emma looks anywhere but at him.

“But that doesn’t matter, does it?” he throws her earlier words back in her face.

“What do you want?” Emma asks, frustration seeping from her voice. She isn’t sure she’s ready to hear the answer.

“You.”  Killian answers forcefully, and he can nearly the taste the mocking reply to this that’s sure to follow. “You and your son to be safe and happy and as far away from Gold as possible.”

“This” she says, pointing to the ring on her left hand,  “is the only way for me to do that.”

“It can’t be. Just don’t do this. Humbert showed up dead in his bathroom, Emma. Or did you forget that? Do you want to honor his sacrifice by giving up what he died for you to have?” Killian isn’t being fair, but none of this is particularly fair so he reckons it’s well beside the point.

“And what?” she challenges, fighting to keep her voice low. “I should ‘honor his sacrifice’ by forcing someone I care about to make another? It’s easy for you to talk big and noble, Killian, when you don’t have a kid at home. You can be selfish. You can craft pipe dreams about how you’ll have Gold in handcuffs and you and your brother will live happily after.”

“That’s what you think? I’m idealistic? When the entire point of this was to get revenge on the man who decimated my brother’s name and now killed my best friend?”

“No.” she answers, “You aren’t idealistic. Someone who was idealistic would have cared about something other than himself, which you’ve made clear isn’t your prerogative from the get-go. You must be goddamn naive to think that I have any other choice in this.  You have absolutely no right to tell me what to do.“

“You’re right,” he concedes defeatedly, looking as if he’d taken a particularly hard blow to the gut. “I don’t.”

She nods curtly, already heading back to the funeral. “I’m glad you understand that.”

“Wait, Emma…” he implores, grabbing her arm to prevent her from leaving.

Emma whips around to face him. “What?”

“I’m sorry." Killian lets go of her, "but I just want you to fight for what you deserve.”

“What I deserve? My kid deserves better than the fear that he’ll be taken away from his mother.”

“He won’t be.” Killian reassures her, “You won’t let that happen.”

“You’re right. Because I’ll make sure of it.” she affirms curtly, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her coat.

He sighs, knowing he has no choice at this point than to let her be. Killian does let himself press a kiss to her forehead, which she seems to accept as a goodbye. He lingers to tell her it’s anything but.  “You will find a way out of this dilemma and I’ll be there when you do… that is, unless you tell me not to be.”

Before she has a chance to reply, Robert Gold ambles up to where they’re speaking with a pleasant crocodile smile on his face. Both of them resemble deer caught in the headlights, which seems to fuel Gold’s self-satisfaction even more. “Emma, dearie, Neal is looking for you.”

Emma obeys, not left with much of a choice, and goes to look for him. She spares a look over her shoulder at Killian, whose eyes still haven’t left her.

He inhales sharply when she’s out of sight.

“You certainly have a habit of falling in love with all the wrong women, Jones.” Gold comments, sounding as if the situation is the most boring thing he could possibly find himself in.

“And you certainly have a habit of repelling them, Gold.” he replies with a cocky grin, “A trait I’m sure you’re trying to pass onto your son.”

Gold’s face falls. “Ah, but it seems it’s always the women who leave you behind. And don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you don’t interfere with anything again. That is, unless you’d like to end up like your dear old friend.” he gestures to the funeral party.

“You’re a real bloody bastard,” he grits out,  “and I’m going to take great pleasure when I get to show the world exactly how much of one. I’m not going to let you do to Emma what you did to Milah. I’ll find a way to make you pay for what you did to Graham.”

“Have fun with that, dearie.” Gold mocks before leaving abruptly, satisfied with the point he’s made.

For all he’s talk, Killian doesn’t have any idea where to go from here.

\--

Killian was an obedient and dutiful rule-follower once, as the byproduct of a household run by a naval captain. He didn’t drink or do drugs in high school and he turned his nose up at his peers that did. All chores were completed swiftly. He was the epitome of an upstanding citizen.

He ponders around the third glass of rum that his teenaged self had been a right pain in the arse. One his current incarnation bore little resemblance to, if his plotting of the best ways to disembowel Robert Gold were any indication. Not that he’d actually go through with the disemboweling bit, but that was beside the point. His sixteen year old self would recoil in horror at the traitorous man he’d become today.

But the both of them have the terrible habit of wanting to make things right. Perhaps in different ways, but his core goals hadn't changed that much. Killian's aspiring lieutenant mindset believed in the infallibility of an incorrupt government and the Killian Jones of today believes in rectifying a rigged system. Three names cemented this difference, and he hopes his brother, MIlah, and Graham will get the justice they deserve by any means necessary.

Just like he would do anything to fix Emma's situation, before she joins the list of people he's failed.

He picks up his phone, and allows himself a moment of weakness to send a message.

“Not a day will go by where I won’t think of you.”

\--

Emma doesn’t speak to Killian after the funeral. She's been escorted to event after event, all excuses to show off the engagement ring that feels like it's been made for someone else.  She's at one of them for her mother's book tour turned campaign spot when she presses send on her reply to Killian’s message.

“Good.” is all it says.

It’s permission. Emma doesn’t have much in the way of hope she’ll get out of this mess, but maybe one day she’ll be able to figure it out. With her mother’s optimistic quotes surrounding her on book covers everywhere she turns, it’s hard to tune them out.

"Something the matter, Emma?" Neal asks, coming up from behind her. He didn't want to be in the situation any more than she did, it seemed. Yet, he still went along with his father's every command.

This plaguing her thoughts, she decides to ask him the question flatout. "Why are you going along with this marriage? You and I both know neither of us want this."

Neal exhales, taking a minute before answering. "Probably the same reason you are."

"What do you mean?" she inquires, puzzled.

"I'll tell you later."

Emma isn't satisfied with this answer, but a woman whose arms are overflowing with books steals her attention. Rushing over to help her, she just barely catches an armful that escape the woman's arms. "You got it?"

The woman looks dramatically less haggard at this. “Yeah, thanks. Your mom sent me over here to help with set-up. ”

She notices the woman’s eyes flicker towards the man she dreads to label as her fiance and Emma realizes she recognizes this woman as something other than one of her mother's campaign workers. Until a few weeks ago, she was engaged to Neal. They both look noticeably  awkward, and she can’t help but wince. She quickly masks it. “Thanks for coming out, Tamara."

“Oh, it’s not a problem, Emma.” she replies pleasantly, and Neal mutters some vague excuse to leave the two alone.

“It's weird that we haven't run into each other lately.” Emma observes carefully, considering the way Neal seems to have vanished in thin air.

“I should probably-” Tamara begins, gesturing to a nearby booth.

“Tamara.”

“Yes?”

Emma was never one for beating around the bush.  "Why did you and Neal break up?"

Tamara lets out a nervous laugh before responding. "People just naturally fall apart sometimes, I guess."

“Okay.” Emma grants, “But you should probably know I have this weird thing with lies. It’s like a mental lie detector that tells me whenever someone is being dishonest with me.”

Tamara blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know as well as I do that Neal and I are being forced into this.” Emma curtly informs Tamara,  “And he has his threats against Neal just like he does with me, but I don’t think his are quite as drastic. So, what did Gold do to you two?”

Tamara gapes, not certain how to respond. Her jaw finally clicks back into place and she whispers her reply. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere more private after we're done with his.”

“Fair enough.” Emma concedes.

\--

Once they get into Emma’s apartment a few hours later, Tamara regales the tale of Neal and her’s meeting. Coffee and stained scarves leading up a hushed plan for engagement. It’s a cute story, Emma has to admit. It beats the romance of shoplifting by a long shot. That is, until, Gold found out that his son had been cavorting with the enemy.

“Why would he care?” Emma asks after Tamara is finished with that segment of her summary. “He even told me that he wanted me to marry Neal to show off his bipartisanship and went so far as to blackmail me into it."

"I wasn't just an enemy because I was working for your mom.” Tamara admits, tucked into an armchair. “ I bugged his office."

"Oh." Emma manages, "Is there any chance you have what you recorded?"

"It didn't catch anything, I'm sorry. It pissed him off enough, though, that he told me the only way he wouldn't tell the press about it and pin it on your mother is if I convinced Neal to try to get sole custody of Henry. Obviously, this was ridiculous." Tamara explains, and Emma can't help but feel a little affection for the woman that clearly had the courage people far more powerful than her didn't. " I called his bluff, said he would have no proof, and quite graphically detailed what he could do to himself before trying that with me again."

"Wish I did that." Emma snorts, and Tamara gives her a self-satisfied grin. "Why did you bug him in the first place?"

"Neal didn't have the bravery enough to stand up to his dad while we were dating, so I had to." Tamara tells her simply. "That was until Gold threatened to file some bullshit report to CPS that they would believe just because he's Robert Gold and Neal has no public leg to stand on outside of his father."

"Guess he saw that Henry was a weakness for both of us." Emma muses bitterly. "So he forced him to break it off with you and marry me?"

"Hit the nail on the head." Tamara admits. "Maybe you two can have an open-marriage. That way you can still be with your boyfriend and Neal and I can still see each other."

"My boyfriend?" Emma parrots, confused. "Killian?"

"Yeah, I think that's the one Henry was telling me about when I was over visiting your mom." Tamara's words make Emma think she is going to need to have a long talk with her kid about gossiping. "Anyway, unless you have any threatening recordings of Gold, you may be forced into open marriages. I mean, if Newt Gingrich can have one."

It takes a moment for Tamara’s words to sink in. “That’s it.”

“Newt Gingrich?” Tamara questions, scrunching her face in bewilderment.

"Threatening recordings." Emma corrects, digging her phone out of her purse. "I can't believe I forgot this."  

 

\---

 

Most people would take one breaking and entering resulting in death and forced engagement as a sign that maybe committing felonies in the middle of the night wasn’t the most ideal plan in the world.

Then again, most people haven’t been picking locks for the past ten years of their lives, so Emma supposes she shouldn’t consider their perspectives when it comes to methods. Besides, if the inhabitant of this apartment was still alive, she knows for damn sure he would have no problem with her current actions.

She is, however, very thankful that Regina hasn’t sold this place yet or else she wouldn’t even be able to do this.

“Where would Graham hide highly incriminating tapes?” Emma ponders aloud to herself, tapping against the side of the phone in her hands that’s currently serving as a flashlight. She eliminates the bathroom immediately, not wanting to face the room her friend died in.

She opts for his bedroom, instead. Emma rummages through his drawers, not unlike the way Graham and Killian searched through Gold’s over a week ago. Like then, she finds nothing. There’s no safe that gives away the location of the tapes this time, of course. She huffs and sits down on the bed, trying her best to focus on where she can find the damn things.

It’s then she realizes the mattress is a little lumpy.

Where do stereotypical men hide anything in the bedroom?

Emma fumbles around the bottom of the mattress, and let’s a quiet cry of victory when her hand make contact with their target. The discs, despite their cliche and less than safe location, are intact. They’re a perfect companion to the copies of the phone call she had with Gold made. Which means she knows what her first stop in the morning is going to be.

 

\--

 

Emma knocks on Neal's door bright and early in the morning. She doesn't give his bleary-eyed form a chance to reply to her spot on his doorstep before informing him, "I talked to Tamara last night, and you have a lot of explaining to do to her. But first, you're going to want to listen to me because I think I can get us both out of this miserable mess."

Neal lets her into his apartment, sleep clearly still lingering on his mind. He manages a request for, "Details, please."

"Well," she starts, stripping off her coat. "For starters, your father killed Graham."

Neal almost trips over the welcome mat.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he sputters, quickly waking up.

“I have these.” she tells him, grabbing the DVDs she swiped from Graham’s and a copy she made of the disastrous phone call with Gold she recorded. “Along with some other things, they’re a start.”

“They prove my father killed Graham?” Neal inquires in disbelief.

“Alludes that he had a part,” she admits, “But I hope it’s enough for you. And you should know me well enough to know I don't play around with this.”

“Jesus, Emma, this is…” Neal trails off, at loss for words.

Emma frowns, and holds up the other discs. “Maybe you don’t want to watch this one, though…it’s your dad and Cora Mills having sex.”

“That’s... disgusting.” Neal says bluntly. Emma feels a little guilty for unloading all this information on him at once, but she supposes it beats the alternative.

She shrugs. “Take that up with your father, not me. It's just a felony that will stick if murder doesn't.”

Neal’s eyes go to the ceiling and his hands are in prayer position in front of his face, seemingly begging help from a deity to sort out his thoughts.

He sits down, taking a minute to compose himself before responding. “I can’t believe he would go this far…” at her unimpressed expression, he explains, “I mean, I knew he would do some horrible things, what he did to my mom and you is proof enough. Murder, though….”

“Believe me, I wish my friend wasn’t dead.” Emma states, refusing to mince words. "But Gold proved pretty damn well how far he’s willing to go, and he used Graham to do it. I want your help in court. If we have his son testifying against him, this case becomes that much more credible."

Neal doesn't blink. "You have it. Completely. Give me a minute to listen to this - the phone call, I don’t need to sit through the other thing - and I’ll be right behind you on this. If you have proof and your word, I believe it."

Emma grins in relief. “Neal Cassidy, standing up to Daddy Dearest?”

“I’m done being a coward, Emma.” Neal tells her, and a part of her is wondering where this boy was eight years ago. She’s grateful to have him now, but her 19 year old self would have been jubilant. “I love my son, and Henry doesn’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. And I’m sorry for what I put you through.”

“You did what you thought you had to do. It was shitty, but we were kids." Emma offers.

“I ruined the girl I was in love with’s life because I was afraid of my father. That’s not what I had to do. That’s not what I should have done." Neal emphasises, "I should have stayed. I should have fought for you and for Henry.”

She can’t deny this much.

“Yeah, you should have." Emma admits, "But you’re fixing that now. You’re going to fight for Tamara and you’re going to fight for Henry because that’s what they both deserve.”

“You’re right." Neal says, " I am.”

"So I'll have our lawyers help us sort this mess out?" Emma asks, letting out a sigh of relief and thanking God Neal was much easier to convince then she thought he would be. Gold was a twisted person who had already made it apparent to his son that he didn’t mind if he happened to be collateral damage in his games, but Emma knows that convincing a son to testify against his own father may have been a difficult task.

“Just give me a time and a place and I’ll be there, Emma.” he informs her, giving her a supportive smile that she can’t help but compare to the many he granted her in college.

Emma will be the first to admit she isn’t the girl she was ten years ago. Her only care in the world isn’t the next gala or what frat boys had the best beer at their houses. She isn’t clinging to the closest form of affection she’d been denied of her whole life, itching to repair the scars that years of living with the Nolan-Blanchards - both of whom she still called by their first names - hadn’t been able to repair with messy kisses in yellow Volkswagens and a stolen keychain on a necklace she hasn’t had the heart to throw out. Neal is hardly the guy he used to be, either.

There was a time in her life she mourned for the past incarnations of Neal and Emma. A Neal that didn’t betray her and throw her away like she was worth nothing to him. An Emma with an intact reputation and the girl who actually trusted people not to leave her.

She's a hell of a lot prouder of the people they are today, now.

 

\--

Emma has got to talk to someone about her penchant for committing felonies, but she knows that Liam is off to work and Killian is bound to be alone, writing and brooding as if it’s his job. Which she knows it is. There’s a moment when she cracks the door to his apartment open where she wonders ‘Oh, God, what if he has a woman over,’ despite his last text and it being the middle of the day.

Her worries are quickly assuaged when she sees him leaning over his counter, beer in hand. He looks up at her, visibly surprised to see her.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you to come in, love.” he supplies, eyeing the instrument in her hand that just picked his lock.

“That would be kind of redundant.” Emma agrees, tucking the lock-picker in her bag. She carefully makes her way over to where he’s currently stationed.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Swan?” he inquires morosely, chin pressed into his palm as he looks up at her.

Emma gives him a mock, long-suffering sigh that contradicts the grin that’s pulling at the edge of her lips. “You were right.”

Killian raises an eyebrow, his features lightening up exponentially.“About what?”

“That I’d figure out the solution to my problem.” Emma answers as he stands up to come toe-to-toe with her. There’s a smile threatening to bloom on his face, as well, as she can’t help but allow her’s to come to fruition. “I guess I came to see if you held up your end of the deal.”

“My end of the deal?” he questions, arms coming to clasp around her waist. “And just what would that be?”

“I’m sure we can figure it out,” Emma breathes, her nose brushing up against his.

Killian leans in to meet her almost  the rest of the way, and she holds her breath. He stops with his lips millimeters away from her’s. “And just how did you find that solution, love?”  he inquires huskily.

"Turns out I had the key to my freedom all along." Emma offers, a blinding smile still on her face.

He can't help but grin back, lips bumping against her’s.. "Depriving me of a dashing rescue one vague reply at a time, eh, love?"  

"Sorry, Jones.” her tone isn’t apologetic in the slightest, “The only one who saves me is me."

"Just so you know, I was fully prepared to patiently await your phone call at your wedding to whisk you away to a foreign country."

"I'll keep that in mind." Emma warmly says.

He almost kisses her, then stops. "I can’t exactly go around having dalliances with engaged women,” he teases, and she can’t help but roll her eyes affectionately. “So, Swan, care to share what this particular key was?"

“Snatched the tapes from Graham’s place and found a recorded phone call that implicates Gold in his death.” Emma shrugs, sounding for all the world that she’s discussing the weather instead of murderous politicians. “Oh, and it also turns out Gold even manipulated his own son.”

“How about that.” Killian ponders aloud.

“Neal fell madly in love with one of my mother’s campaign workers. One who humiliated him more than either of us combined, I think.”

“Sounds like a tough lass.” Killian states, and Emma thinks he has no idea. “And Gold just couldn’t have that, could he?”

“Threatened to disown him and strip him of every penny and take Henry away." she informs him.

“So I take it he had a change of mind? Or shall I say,” she can just tell he’s about to make a stupid joke,  “a change of heart.”

“Did your bangs block the blackboard in day one of your How To Avoid Cliches 101 class?” she snickers teasingly, pulling him closer to her by his lapel.

“If I didn’t know any better…” he begins, an innuendo on its way out of his mouth.

Emma isn’t having any of it. "Shut up and put your mouth to good use." she commands in a whisper, and the grin on his face widens even further.

“As you wish.”

So he does, putting it to her's and tangling his fingers in her hair.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tremendous thanks to Amber, Pearl, and Nini for not only inspiring me to start this, but for "bullying" me to continue it. Also, without Amber and Pearl proofreading, this chapter would be much messier. So credit them for that too!


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